The Black Room
by Adastra
Summary: Harry's latest client is a man who is convinced he is being stalked by something he cannot see. As he works the case, Harry is haunted by dreams of a room where something is locked in the darkness. TV verse. COMPLETE.
1. The Client

A dozen thanks to LiveJournal user lmd84 for taking a look at this and giving me some early feedback :-)

This story will be broken into several chapters.

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**The Black Room**

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_I get all kinds of clients in my office. It doesn't take as much advertising as you might think when you're the only wizard-for-hire in town. I've got the sign on my window, the ad in the phone book, and I get referrals. Now, some--okay, most--of the other PIs in Chicago think I'm kind of joke and take a certain delight in refer their nuttier cases to me. Sometimes the clients really are nuts, but more often than not, their cases are right up my alley. I always send a card and fruit basket as thanks. _

"To be honest, Mr. Dresden, I feel kind of silly being here," the man said and then laughed awkwardly. He looked out of place in the room, his pressed black suit, neatly combed blond hair, and shined shoes clashing with Harry's more casual, second-hand lifestyle. But the man's pale face spoke of a troubled state-of-mind.

"Don't worry, Mr. Hart," Harry said and offered a chair. "I'd say the majority of clients that walk through my door feel a little silly about it at first." He smiled and added, "So how many private investigators did you consult before coming to see me?"

This time the man, Sean Hart, laughed, but this time with genuine humor. "Three. In fact, the last one suggested I call you."

"Oh? Who was that?" Harry asked and sat down himself.

"Jeffrey Smith. He said that you handle..." Hart searched for the phrasing, and then said, "More unusual cases. Personally, I'm pretty sure he thought I was crazy when his investigation revealed nothing."

"Well, I do handle more unusual cases, Mr. Hart," Harry said sincerely and then asked, "So what is it that brings you to me?"

"I'm being stalked."

"Who's stalking you?"

"That's the thing, Mr. Dresden, I don't know."

"Are they threatening you?"

"Not exactly. I mean, they've never said anything to me, never confronted me, but they're always there."

"Can you describe this stalker?"

Hart shook his head. "This is where I start to sound crazy. I've never seen anyone. It's more like a feeling, like something I almost see, but not quite, as if the stalker lives in the periphery of my vision."

Harry thought for a moment. "Do you have any enemies? Anyone you can think of that would be trying to scare you?"

Hart shrugged. "Mr. Dresden..."

"Call me Harry, please."

"Harry, I'm a private criminal defense attorney, a successful one. There are people who are not happy when I have won cases for my clients, but I've never had anyone target me for it."

"I see." Harry tapped the desk in front of him, thinking. "Are there times when you feel this stalker's presence more than others?"

"Yes," Hart said. "At my home. I swear from my office window, I have caught a glimpse of someone staring up at me, but I couldn't describe that person to you. I couldn't even say I really saw them, just a shadow."

"Well, maybe--"

"Is there someone else here?" Hart interrupted and stood up.

Harry glanced around. "No, no one else is here."

Hart looked around as well and sat back down with some hesitation.

"Would it be possible for me to go to your house and have a look around?"

"I'll be out of town tonight. You could take a look when I get back, or I could give you a key. I..." Hart looked around again, distracted. "Are you sure no one else is here? Do you have a roommate or--"

"Nope, just me."

"I could swear..."

"My... cat. Bob. Maybe my cat, Bob, is somewhere."

Hart looked at Harry and gave a wan smile. "I'm sorry, I guess I've been a little jumpy lately."

Hart reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a checkbook, but it slipped from his fingers, which trembled slightly.

"Do you want a glass of water or some tea or..."

"No, no," Hart said quickly, and pulled a pen and key from his pocket. He set the key on the desk and then scribbled onto a check, tore it out of the book, and handed it to Harry. "An advance," Hart said. "Let me know of any expenses you incur."

Harry glanced down at the check and exhaled. "I'm sure this will cover any expenses."

Hart glanced at his watch and said, "I should be going."

He stood and extended a hand to Harry, who took it.

"Harry, you are not able to get to the bottom of this, I really think I might be going crazy after all."

Hart's handshake was firm and strong, but his palm felt slightly clammy.

Harry put his free hand on top of the handshake in reassurance. "I'll start right away."

-----

Bob leaned over the desk, looked at the check that lay on the surface, and gave a low whistle. "Four thousand dollars as an advance? Better cash it before you start investigating, just in case it's too good to be true."

"Don't be so cynical."

"Where you and money are concerned, I think I've earned that right. How many nights in a row now have you eaten rice and beans for dinner?"

Ignoring the ghost, Harry turned and headed to his lab, Bob following. Once inside, Harry gathered ingredients for a spell and started adding them haphazardly to a small pot.

"Harry, really, sometimes I think you learned nothing from me. Spells require precision, you can't just throw things into a container and hope for the best."

"It's not a precise spell, Bob, I just want basic _Indicare_ potion to tell me if something non-human has been skulking around my client's place."

Harry sat down at a table, lit the bunson burner under the pot, stirred the concoction together, and then leaned back in his chair.

"The problem with imprecise spells is that you never can be quite sure when they are ready," Bob complained. "You're going to have to sit here and watch that potion to get it right when it boils and turns clear, otherwise it will be useless."

"Is that a problem? I've got a four thousand dollar check and nothing else I need to do today. Or did you need to be somewhere?"

Bob sighed dramatically, but didn't say anything in response. The silence did not last long, however.

"I can't believe you told him I was a cat. Roommate would have been perfectly acceptable. Or respected elder perhaps?"

"You really wanted me to tell my client I live with a centuries old man who, by the way, is cursed and imprisoned?"

"It would have been better than being relegated to vaguely companionable lower life form."

"Bob, you're not any kind of life form, you are... a dead form. You know what, I'm done having this conversation."

"It is strange though," Bob said, "that he seemed to know I was here."

"He seemed pretty rattled, I don't know if he could tell someone was here, or his imagination invented someone here."

"Still, it might be worth inquiring into further."

"Yes, but first step, potion." He leaned forward and looked into the pot where the ingredients had become a swirling mass of yellowish goo. Harry turned the heat up a tad on the burner.

"You know what they say about a watched pot."

"Yeah, I know, Bob, I know."

-----

For a moment, it felt as if the room consisted only of darkness and heat, but then Harry bumped into something and startled at the clinking sound of glass. He reached into the darkness to steady himself on the edge of a table. He reached out, his fingers blindly brushing over the glass vessels he had just upset, but he found nothing useful. No candles, no matches, no wand.

_"Harry..."_

He jerked his hand back, knocking one of the glasses to the hard floor, where it shattered. His breath quickened, his pulse raced. He strained his ears, but heard nothing more. Had he even heard anything to begin with? Or had his mind filled in that whispered name?

Keeping his fingertips on the table to provide a reference point in the darkness, he took several steps forward, the shattered glass crunching under his shoes. He raised his free hand to his brow and wiped away a few beads of sweat. Why was it so hot?

_"Harry..."_

-----

"Harry... Harry!"

Harry awoke and raised his head from where it had rested on his folded arms on the table. He looked around, uncertain for a moment where he was.

"Harry, the potion is boiling!"

Cursing under his breath, Harry grasped at the nob of the burner, but his fingers, slightly sweaty, slipped over it.

"It's turned clear," Bob said urgently.

Harry rubbed his hands on his jeans and reached for the nob again, turning it to off. He grabbed a small, empty bottle from near the pot, jammed a funnel into the top, and then ladled off some of the potion into the bottle, filling it.

The potion in the pot suddenly turned black, but in the bottle, it remained clear. Harry looked at Bob. "Is it okay?"

Bob reached one of his hands to the bottle, a couple fingers flicking through it. The ghost nodded to Harry.

Harry noticed long formulae written in the air in golden letters, one of the projects Bob liked to work on. The runes and numbers formed a complex pattern.

"How long was I asleep?" Harry asked.

"You've been asleep a few hours," Bob answered. "It's starting to get dark outside."

Harry stretched out, yawning.

"You looked like you were having a dream," Bob commented.

Darkness and heat, the sound of crunching glass, a brief recollection in Harry's mind of the dream.

"It was nothing," Harry said.

Bob often took a keen interest in Harry's dreams, seeming to take an enjoyment in providing interpretations. Perhaps because the ghost could not have dreams himself. Harry generally found the interpretations cryptic, meaningless, and occasionally lewd.

"You were trembling in your sleep. Are you certain it was nothing?"

"Bob, I don't even remember what it was about." He stoppered the bottle and stood up. "Potion's ready. Get in your skull, I'm taking you with me."

Bob disappeared into smoke and then into a tiny ember of light that zipped into the ornately carved skull sitting on a small shelf. Harry grabbed the bottle of potion and the skull, and as he closed the door of the lab behind him, he could almost swear he heard the soft sound of his name being spoken.


	2. The Ghoul

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_Having the ghost of a cursed, powerful wizard comes in pretty handy most of the time. I often wish that I could do more for him other than keep him out of the wrong hands (and I'm not even always so great at that part), but having Bob really does make it easier for me to do what I do, however cranky he may be at times._

"There is nothing here, Dresden!" Bob repeated, his voice exasperated.

"Bob, I gotta be thorough." Harry tapped out another drop of potion onto the ground and stared at it, waiting to see if it would start smoldering. Nothing.

"We've been out here for over two hours. That security patrol that keeps coming around is bound to notice at some point. Your cloaking spell is only temporarily effective."

Another drop on the ground, another dud. The front yard of the house was expansive, but unimaginative. It consisted of lawn, a few mature maple trees, and a flagstone path that led from the front gate to steps that went to the door of the stately house. A tall hedgerow bounded the property in the front.

"No suspicious living creature has been around this yard, and certainly nothing inhuman," Bob continued. "Between the two of us, we would have detected something, but there is nothing here to detect."

"Could you just cooperate here with me, Bob?" Harry asked as he let a drop of potion fall onto the flagstone path.

Bob didn't say anything, but went and hovered his hand over the front door. His figure morphed into that of a little girl wearing a skirt and a sash decorated with patches.

"Your client is being stalked by girl scouts," Bob announced, his deep voice incongruous with the sweet faced child. "Perhaps Mr. Hart reneged on his payment due for cookies and the organization sent some muscle to intimidate him."

The ghost transitioned back to his usual appearance. "Though this broadens the possible scope. I suspect the mailman and paperboy are in on it. I sense a grand conspiracy, the plot thickens, et cetera."

Harry stoppered the bottle and shoved it into the front pocket of his sweater. "Fine. Let's just go take a look in the house and then we'll go. It's gotten too dark outside to do this anyway."

Harry went to where he had left his hockey stick staff laying on the ground and picked it up. He went to the front door, which Bob had already passed through. Harry had forgotten the key, but it did not matter. He stretched his fingers towards the lock and concentrated, channeling the magic through his fingertips. A golden light flared out to the lock, but was tinged with an unexpected red color. The lock glowed red for a moment and then unlatched. Harry jerked his hand back.

He opened the door and entered the dark house. Bob was standing in the foyer, waiting for him.

"Bob," Harry said. "Check this lock. Something weird just happened."

Bob moved over next to Harry and passed his hand through the lock and shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Nothing?"

"Why? What happened?"

"There was this sort of reddish light."

Bob focused more intently in the lock, hovering his hand over it. "Nothing," he repeated. "Did you do anything unusual?"

Harry shook his head. "No... maybe I imagined it," he said uncertainly.

Bob looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged.

"Come on," Harry said. "Let's find Hart's office. He said he saw someone from there. Maybe we'll notice something there that we didn't outside."

They went through the house and finally found the office upstairs. Harry left the lights off and went to the window. He gazed out, but saw nothing but the plain front yard, vaguely illuminated by moonlight. He continued for several minutes to scrutinize the front of the home.

"It's no good," he said to Bob, who stood next to him.

"I agree."

Harry started to turn away, but then a figure emerged from the darkness outside. It stood next to one of the maple trees, looking up at the window. Harry jerked his head back, refocusing his eyes, but the figure disappeared, melting into the night.

"Did you see that?" He asked Bob.

"I haven't seen anything."

"I know I saw someone," Harry said. "Someone is out there."

Harry turned and left the office, ran down the stairs and outside of the house, Bob zipping after him in the form of an ember. Harry went to the spot where he had seen the figure, but there was no sign of anyone. He pulled the potion bottle out of his sweater's front pocket, where he had stowed it next to Bob's skull before entering the house.

Bob materialized next to Harry as he circled the tree where he had seen the figure. Harry poured out several drops of the potion onto the ground around the tree, but they provided no reaction.

"Okay," Harry said, "Something was here. What are my options?"

"There are only two possibilities, if indeed there was something," Bob answered. "It must have been a human being..."

"Not possible. We were all over this yard. No one out of the ordinary has been here."

Bob circled the tree as well and nodded. "You're right, no one has been in this spot.

"So what's the other option?"

"We're dealing with something that is not alive."

"What?"

"The potion can only indicate things that are living. Drop some of it through me."

Harry sprinkled some of the potion; it passed through Bob's feet, and did nothing.

"Fortunately, the list of possibilities for things that are undead is fairly short. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, and ghosts. Zombies, we can strike off. If one were lumbering around here, we could not have missed it."

"Good point. So vampires, ghouls, and ghosts... oh my."

"If it were a ghost, it would be highly unusual that I would not have discovered it already. I'd say a vampire or a ghoul is the most likely culprit."

"Great, vampires and ghouls, my favorites," Harry said dryly. "But this guy, Hart, would have to be mixed up in some serious stuff to attract the attention of either."

"Stalking would be more a ghoul's style," Bob said. "Casing out a mark before taking any action."

Harry sighed. "Ghouls... God, I hate the way they smell."

-----

_Ghouls can be pretty nasty creatures, but generally they stay away from human beings, unless a human being has something they really want. Since they are usually attracted to magic, the only humans that tend to have significant contact with them are wizards. I am only personally acquainted with one ghoul, and sometimes that feels like one ghoul too many. _

Harry banged on the door to the apartment again.

"Go away!" A masculine voice yelled out from inside.

"Brian, I'm not going away. Look, I'll make it worth your while, just let me inside."

There was silence for a moment, but then an unseen force opened the door slightly. Harry pushed the door further in to enter the small, unkempt apartment. Papers, books, rocks, sticks, empty cups, blackened bones... the place was overflowing with miscellaneous artifacts.

Harry paused and closed his eyes, steadying himself, as the smell hit him. It was like decomposing sea life washed up on the shore of a polluted beach. He was glad he hadn't eaten anything before he had come.

"Come on then, Dresden," the voice called. "What have you got for me?"

Harry opened his eyes and walked through a short hall to a living room, being careful not to trip on any of the objects that lay strewn along the way. The ghoul sat in a dingy wingback chair, the brown leather cracked and dull.

To all appearances, he was a handsome, well-groomed man. Short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Suit a little worn, but still of a high quality. But Harry knew that it was all a facade. At their cores, ghouls were decay, and that affected everything around them.

"Hey ya, Brian, not looking too bad," Harry offered as he entered the living room.

"Why are you here?" Brian asked, looking up at Harry from clear, gray eyes.

"Just looking for some information," Harry said. "The name Sean Hart mean anything to you?"

Brian appeared to think for a moment and then slowly shook his head. "Never heard it."

"Any of your ghoul buddies that might have a grudge against a lawyer? Or want something he has?"

Again, the ghoul shook his head.

"Well, could you maybe ask around for me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"To help an old friend."

"Who might that be?"

Sighing, Harry said, "What do you want in exchange for your help?"

Brian steepled his fingers and appeared lost in thought for a moment.

"A potion," he answered. "I haven't been able to leave this apartment for over a week. A potion to let me walk among human society for a while."

"So... a magical cologne then?"

"Something like that." Brian paused. "In addition to whatever you have brought me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"You said you'd make it worth my while if I let you in."

"But you haven't told me anything. You haven't given me any useful information."

The ghoul's eyes narrowed, and he repeated to Harry, in Harry's own voice, what he had said at the door, "_I'll make it worth your while, just let me inside_."

"I don't have anything on me to give you."

Brian stood up from the chair accompanied by a loud cracking of bones. Hadn't left _the apartment_ in over a week? Harry suspected Brian hadn't even left the chair in that time.

"You do have something." Brian's eyes were glittering with a dangerous ghoulish greed. "I can smell it... old magic... dark magic."

Harry became acutely aware of the weight in the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Bob's skull. He wished he had not left his hockey stick in the jeep.

Brian stepped toward him.

"It's nothing I can give you."

Another step closer. "I want it."

Harry started moving backwards. "Really, I'll come back later. You can have that potion. I'll make you a year's supply."

Another step closer. Brian's outward facade flickered, momentarily revealing the skeletal creature underneath, its skin a mottled gray, crumbling in places, slick and moist in others.

Harry stumbled on an obstacle on the floor. The ghoul lunged for him, grabbing at the front of his sweater. Harry fell backwards and curled himself into a ball, trying to keep the skull away from the prying hands.

"I want it!"

Harry coughed and choked, Brian's festering breath was like a poison. The ghoul's fingers were strong, unnaturally so, and reaching, grasping, working their way toward their goal.

"No!" Harry cried and felt a violent surge of fear and energy flow through him. He kicked his feet against the ghoul, pushed with his hands and shoved Brian off.

He scrambled to his feet and Brian surged forward again, his ghastly visage showing again underneath the handsome exterior.

Harry noticed that the tips of his fingers were faintly glowing red. He shook them out, but when Brian was once again nearly upon him, he put his hands up defensively and a dark, red energy bled from his hands. The energy flowed and gathered between them, keeping them apart then it turned black and disappeared. An invisible power exploded between them and flung each one backwards.

Pain erupted in Harry's mind as his head made contact with a bookshelf. A few dusty, heavy tomes fell from the shelf and landed on top of him. Small lights darted at the edge of his vision. He felt consciousness slipping away from him and as the blackness came over him, he glanced at his tingling hands. They looked like they were covered in blood.


	3. The Warden

-----

He had reached the end of the table, the glass still crunching under his feet. Beyond the table, a perfect darkness. He put his hands out in front of himself and moved blindly until he came to a wall. He paused and wiped more sweat from his brow. A wave of adrenaline coursed through him, the darkness and heat making him claustrophobic. He followed the smooth surface of the wall with one of his hands, and felt a small comfort in the wall's tangibility.

"_Harry..."_

He spun around at the voice, it was so familiar and so _close_. Right behind him, he could have sworn. But he could see nothing. His head swam for a moment and he his stomach tightened with a dizziness and disorientation. Had the wall been on his right or his left? He took a long, slow breath. His left. The wall had definitely been on his left.

"_You need me."_

A whisper of hot breath played across the back of his neck, and he broke into a run. He had only gone a few paces when his feet tripped on an obstacle in front of him and he pitched forward. His hands burned with pain as sharp objects jabbed into them.

-----

"Dresden, wake up!" Harry started awake and looked up at the source of the voice. Morgan, the local chief warden of the High Council, stood over him, sword in hand.

Harry groaned and sat up. He rubbed the back of his head where a swollen lump had formed.

"Hey Morgan," he managed in a weak voice.

"What are you doing here, Dresden?" Morgan demanded.

Harry got to his feet and winced, his muscles stiff and slow to respond.

"No need to help me up or anything," Harry remarked and rubbed the back of his head again.

"What are you doing here?" Morgan repeated.

"I came to see Brian," Harry answered and moved past Morgan and back into the main room where he saw Brian laying on the floor, awake, but bound hand and foot by invisible tethers.

"For?" Morgan asked.

"Information," Harry said.

"What kind of information?"

"Morgan, do you see me interrogating you about why you're here? Is the Council ever interested in minding its own damn business?"

Morgan bristled slightly. "I am here on the Council's business. We've been keeping this ghoul under surveillance. He's been moving Third Eye in exchange for magical artifacts." Morgan stepped over to a small table with dry and splintering wood, upon which rested several objects. He picked up a polished black stone from among them.

Harry noticed that the objects on the table, unlike anything else in the apartment, were in pristine condition. Brian's collection. The magical powers imbued in the objects made them immune to the decay.

"Some of these things are quite rare," Morgan continued. "This," he held the stone out toward Harry, but snatched it back when Harry reached for it, "is the petrified eye of an ancient, and now extinct, breed of dragon. Very useful in making people disappear."

"Disappear like how?."

"Like make them disappear from here, and reappear somewhere else in the world, anywhere else."

"Yeah, I can see why you'd want to be careful with something like that."

"We are trying to find out who the supplier is."

"I don't know who!" Brian interjected.

"Quiet," Morgan said and nodded in Brian's direction, casting a silencing spell with the motion.

Brian went to say something else, but no sound came from his mouth.

"We want to know who he is working for."

Morgan's tone was accusatory and his eyes narrowed on Harry. Harry noticed Morgan's sword hand was still clenched tightly to the hilt.

Harry put his hands in the air in front of him and backed up slightly. "Oh no, no, it's not me."

"Is that so?" Morgan took a step forward.

"Morgan, I don't know what Brian was mixed up in, but I promise you I am not involved."

"You promised to give him a potion that would enable him to leave this apartment."

"You were listening."

"I caught part of the conversation, yes. I also know that you brought the skull with you."

The weight from his front pocket was gone, Harry realized, but he reached for where it had been just to be sure.

"Where is he?"

"You should never have been entrusted with its keeping."

"I'm not having this argument with you Morgan," Harry said making no attempt to mask his anger. "The skull is mine. Now, where. is. he?"

"What are you doing here? What is your business with this ghoul?" Morgan demanded in a calm, but forceful tone.

"Morgan, I am just here for a client. I thought maybe a ghoul was stalking him. I thought Brian might have a line on who it might be. I said I would help Brian out if he helped me out then he tried to take Bob then I defended against him... and then I blacked out and you were here. I'm not dealing Third Eye."

Morgan scrutinized Harry for a moment then seemed to relax. He turned to Brian. "Is Dresden telling me the truth?"

Brian nodded. His eyes were locked on Morgan's sword.

Morgan reached into a pocket in his coat and pulled the skull out and set it on the table.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but then Morgan tapped the skull with the petrified eye and it disappeared. Before Harry could protest, Morgan said, "The skull is back at your place."

"Well... all right then." Harry looked over at Brian. "And what happens to him?"

"Him? He isn't going to give me any information. I was talking to him for quite some time while you were napping. He's also going to disappear."

"Yeah? Where to?"

"In the more figurative sense, Dresden." Morgan set the black eye back down on the table and raised his sword.

"Wait, wait, I need his information."

"He doesn't have any information for you. What he neglected to tell you is that he is the only ghoul in Chicago. He's used the dragon's eye on the other ghouls in the city and on a few vampires... anyone he thought he would have to compete with."

Morgan stepped over to Brian, who shrank back, but who could not escape.

"Wait, Morgan, maybe I could still use him. Look, the Council's supposed to be the good guys, right? I could still use Brian's help on my case. My client could be in danger from someone from our world. I have too many leads to chase them down on my own. Let Brian help me to make up for some of what he's done and if he screws up, you can cut off his head, wish him away to the cornfield, do whatever it is you gotta do."

Morgan paused and then said. "If there is danger from our world then it's a Council matter."

"Morgan, I know you have bigger fish to fry. You don't have time to help out just one man. The Council really just never has time to help any one person." This time it was Harry whose tone was accusatory.

"Very well," Morgan conceded. "But I want you to tell me if he screws up, and I want him out of Chicago when he's done on your case. I can't promise anything. I can't say certain vampires won't be gunning for him, but for the time being, you can use him and I will not harm him."

-----

_I'm not entirely sure why I helped Brian. I definitely don't have that many leads to chase down. Maybe I did it just to piss Morgan off. Maybe because I don't like the High Council's brand of justice. Maybe because once upon a time there used to be a human being named Brian, not just the sad creature he had become. Maybe a little of all these things. I was stuck with him at any rate, nowhere with my case, my head was killing me, and I was due for a tongue lashing at home. You know, I'm not really sure $4,000 was worth all this._

"Harry Dresden, I cannot believe the level of irresponsibility and... and..." Bob seemed to be looking for the right words. "And sheer stupidity you demonstrated!"

Harry felt like a twelve year old again being reprimanded for a foolish use of magic. He supposed he deserved it.

"I'm sorry Bob, you're right. I was a complete idiot to take you in there." Harry moved from his living room to the entrance of his lab, opened the door, and stepped inside.

"Well," Bob sniffed, following Harry, but opting to simply pass through a wall rather than use the door. "So long as you see the error of your ways, apology accepted."

"You see, Bob? You see why I don't take you out more often?"

"There's quite a large difference between taking a nice stroll and walking into a ghoul's lair."

"Yeah, okay, I see your point. I'm sorry again." Harry gathered some bottles and vials from around the lab then sat down at a work surface and pulled out a large bowl.

"What happened after Morgan he sent me back here?"

"Well, he was going to kill Brian."

Harry started to carefully measure out the liquid contents of the bottles and vials, not so much because he didn't think he could eyeball it, but more in deference to Bob's sensibilities. He added the measured liquids to the bowl.

"Don't tell me you stopped him," Bob said.

"You want me to lie?"

"Why?"

"I don't know entirely. It doesn't really matter. He's going to give me some help, and I said I'd give him this potion so he can go out in public without the, uh, more unpleasant side effects of his nature. I cast a masking spell that's only going to kind of work for _maybe_ twenty four hours. After that, it's back to smelly without this stuff."

Harry finished pouring the ingredients and pushed back from the work surface. "Well, this is an easy one at any rate. It just has to sit for at least three hours, the end."

"Perhaps you should get some rest then," Bob suggested. "It's been a long night. It's after midnight. I expect your time unconscious in the ghoul's lair was not entirely a recuperative sleep."

"Yeah, about that... I had the same dream again that I had this afternoon. I mean, I kind of forgot the dream this afternoon, but now I remember it and it was really similar."

"Care to elaborate?"

Harry looked up, trying to recall the specifics. "I'm in this room, this completely dark room, and it's hot, and there is something else in the room with me." He looked back down and met Bob's eyes. "And I'm scared, apprehensive, threatened. More of a nightmare."

"Hmmmmm..." Bob said and shook his head. "I am not sure what it could mean... it may be just a general concern about this case."

Harry shook his head as well. "No, it's not that."

He glanced down at his hands and a phantom pain tingled through them. "I cast a spell to defend myself from Brian, but I can't remember what it was. It was... wrong. Then I had the dream."

"It's probably nothing." Bob gave a small smile. "Try to rest."

"Think on it a bit, will you?"

Bob nodded. Harry stretched out and yawned then headed for his bed.


	4. The Message

-----

His palms were on fire. Harry regained his footing and held his hands in front of himself, trying to see them in the darkness. He brushed the fingers of one hand over the palm of the other. Clenching his teeth, he pulled out the larger slivers then did the other hand. His fingers were shaking though, unsteady.

"_Harry..."_

His pulse quickened and he stumbled forward, but kept himself from falling. He ran up the stairs, echoes of his own footsteps chasing him. He ran, but the stairs didn't seem to end.

"_I can help you."_

He stopped running and tried to catch his breath. Panting, he called out, "Who are you?!"

There was silence in response. And then something grabbed his shoulder.

------

Harry jolted awake and stumbled out of bed towards his ringing telephone. He grabbed the receiver, and it sparked when he touched it. He raised it to his ear, but there was no dial tone. The ringing continued on his desk phone and he ran down the stairs, but hesitated as he reached for it.

"Harry, calm down or you'll wreck that one as well."

Harry turned to face Bob.

"Have you seen yourself?" Bob asked, his tone concerned.

Harry shook his head, but realized his heart was pounding and his breathing came hard, like he had been running for a long time. He touched his forehead and found it slick with sweat.

Harry said, "It was that dream again."

The answering machine clicked on, and the voice of Harry's client carried through it into the room.

"Harry, this is Sean Hart."

The voice sounded unsteady.

"I just got back in from out of town. Call me when you get this message, or come over. There's... there's a threatening note and it's _everywhere_. It says..."

Harry reached to pick up the phone to talk to Hart, but it sparked like the other and died, taking the answering machine with it.

"I gotta get over there."

"Don't," Bob said, but offered nothing by way of explanation.

"I have to. He could be in danger." Harry went back up the stairs and tossed on fresh clothes. When he went back downstairs, Bob was still there.

"Take me with you," the ghost requested.

Harry grabbed his keys and shook his head. "Like I need a repeat of last night."

He headed out the door before Bob could protest.

-----

It was just as Hart had said: the message was everywhere. It hung in the air of the front yard, the words written in whispy black lettering.

_I want justice. I am coming for you._

Over and over again. In small letters, large letters, all capitals, all lower case, script, print,_everywhere_. Harry waved one of his hands through one of the writings as he walked quickly along the flagstone path toward the front door. The words vanished as soon as he made contact with them. In his other hand, he clenched his hockey stick tight.

He reached for the front door, but Hart opened it before Harry touched the handle.

"Sean, are you okay?"

Harry could see the words were hanging in the air inside of the house as well.

_I want justice. I am coming for you._

"I can't stay here," Hart said shakily, and Harry noticed that he had a suitcase with him. "There's no one here, but this..." he gestured to the words in the front and into the house. "You see it too, right?"

"Oh yeah, I see it," Harry answered.

"Good," Hart said, sounding relieved. "Not really good, but at least..."

"At least you're not nuts."

Hart nodded and gave a wan smile.

"I was here last night and _none_ of this was here," Harry said. "But there was someone, and it was like you said. I saw them without every really seeing them."

"Do you know what it means?"

Harry shook his head. "Not yet, but I'm working on some leads and I will get to the bottom of it."

"It's..." Hart hesitated. "I can't believe I am saying this, but it's _supernatural_, isn't it?"

Harry smiled. "I told you I handle more unusual cases."

"None of my neighbors have noticed, but they're bound too. I guess... I would rather they didn't," Hart said.

"I agree."

Harry closed his eyes and struck his hockey stick to the ground. He murmured a spell softly and from inside the house, a wind came rushing out, rattling things inside and dissipating the words. In the front yard, the wind swirled around and obliterated the letters, and then died, leaving the air as still as it had been when Harry arrived.

Harry looked at Hart, who was staring at him wide-eyed. Harry shrugged and said, "The wizard thing isn't just a schtick."

"I believe you. Not that anyone would believe _me_."

"It always works out for the best that way."

Hart nodded.

"I am exploring some avenues, but until I get something concrete on who, or what, is doing this, well," Harry glanced again at Hart's suitcase, "you've figured that part out."

"I'll stay at a hotel, but I'll call you later to see what you've found out.'

"Yeah, about that, my phone kind of died when you called. Why don't you drop by my place later this afternoon? Maybe four-ish?"

"Okay, four then."

"If you can't make it, that's fine. Just... if it's gotten dark, don't come. Stay in your hotel room. Do NOT be outside at night. Do NOT let anyone in your hotel room after dark."

"Why?"

"Like I said, I am exploring all avenues. I just think with one of these avenues, it would be safer if you took my advice."

Hart nodded. "I will plan to be at your place this afternoon. Otherwise, tomorrow morning."

"Look, Sean, I need you to be completely honest with me. You haven't done anything or had dealings with anyone that would earn you an enemy? If you're involved in something, I have to know or I won't do you any good."

Hart picked up his suitcase. "Believe me, I wish I were involved in something. I wish I had something to confess."

-----

_Do you ever feel like every path leads to a dead end? Someone wanted justice, someone was coming for Sean Hart, someone I hadn't found or even come close to identifying. I'd arrived at dead ends, and now I didn't know what road to take. Then I wound up somewhere completely unexpected. _

Harry hadn't meant to go there, hadn't wanted to go there, hadn't even previously registered that Hart's house was in the same area. But there he was standing outside the Morningway estate without understanding why. He turned the knob on the front door; it unlocked and opened for him without need of a key or spell. The house _knew_ him.

Harry had only been to the house once since _that_ night. The last time, he had been there with a purpose: to rescue Bob. The lack of a reason for his presence unsettled him, and he hesitated before stepping over the threshold.

The night he had attempted to rescue Bob, he had been able to hide and be stealth through darkness and shadows. Standing in the broad foyer in the daylight, he felt completely naked, exposed, like the house was watching him.

The sunlight and rich woodwork seemed evocative of warmth, but Harry shivered. The memories that struck him contradicted one another deeply. He could remember as a child running, playing, _laughing_ in the front hall. Yet there he was also, an adult shaking with rage, throwing his murderous uncle onto the floor. Harry as a child, his uncle Justin coming home from a long trip and there was Harry greeting him, asking how the journey went, accepting Justin's arm over his shoulder. And then, later, Justin laying on the floor clutching at his chest, heart seizing up under Harry's spell.

He closed his eyes and hurried through the hall as if he could simply escape his life in the house by trying to ignore it. He wanted to leave, but could not even as the phantom sounds of a child's footsteps and a man's last breaths chased after him.

He found himself in the study, where most of the furniture was draped by white cloths, but he could still_see _how it once was. Lessons at the chalkboard, Bob correcting him on an inaccurate formula, Justin looking in on them, Harry helping Justin with his cufflinks, seeing his father's ring on Justin's finger, Bob telling him not to ask why, learning the truth.

He backed out of the room, but every subsequent room held potent memories of his youth, of his uncle, of the overarching lie that colored everything in retrospect. Room to room, looking for something, but not knowing what it was.

Harry descended the stairs to the cellar where Justin had stored magical ingredients, all of which were long since gone leaving only empty shelves and bare tables in the room. Memories filled in the negative space. Jars, boxes, vials, baskets filled with powders, herbs, stones, scales, liquids, hair, candles, anything and everything needed for Justin's powerful magic. More than once, Harry had been sent down to fetch something for his uncle. More than once he had stolen down here to secret something away for his personal use. Only once had he been caught doing so.

He could remember being 16 years old and sliding his hand into a jar filled with smooth pebbles from the Amazon river basin, an ingredient in an experimental love spell Harry had been working on in the hopes of winning over Beth Rochon from six houses down.

He could hear the memory of his uncle's voice. "What are you doing?"

He had pulled his hand back, startled, upsetting the jar and causing it to crash down, glass and pebbles skittering across the hard floor. He had stumbled backwards, accidentally upsetting a few more jars and vials.

"Uncle Justin, I..."

"You could have just asked, Harry, if you needed something." There had been a suppressed rage in Justin's voice, something simmering below the surface.

Harry's palms had felt sweaty, panicked. He had never known his uncle to be quick to anger.

"But instead of asking." Justin had knelt down and picked up an unbroken vial, thought its contents had spilled across the the floor. He had straightened back up. "You decided to STEAL from ME." He had thrown the vial down, shattering it.

And the world plunged into blackness. A crunch of glass. A whisper of his name: _"Harry..."_ Hot pressure on his shoulder.

Then he was back in the empty room, daylight streaming through the small cellar windows, lighting the long vacant space.

Harry turned and fled up the stairs. Away from the memory, away from the dream.

-----

_To be continued..._


	5. The Woman

-----

Harry parked in front of his place and saw Brian skulking outside with a file in his hand. The paint around the store front looked a little more worn, a little more cracked than it had earlier that morning. Brian waved at him as he got out of the jeep and Harry could smell a faint must of decay.

"Spell's wearing off, Dresden. I gotta have that potion."

Brian crowded close to Harry as Harry unlocked the door, the locking mechanism sticking a bit.

"Back off a bit, would you," Harry grumbled and the ghoul took a small step back.

Once they were inside, Harry asked, "What did you find out?"

Brian offered the file and Harry took it from him and opened it. The pages of the documents inside had yellowed slightly. "What is this?"

"I went to the courthouse, waited in some lines, finally got someone to help me locate info on Hart's recent cases. Seems like Hart's a great advocate: not guilty verdicts, light sentences, and favorable pleas for his clients. This file," he pointed to the folder in Harry's hands. "I guess some woman requested it a couple weeks ago, but she never picked it up. Her name's Sarah Marshall; they left her address is in the file. Maybe it's nothing, but it's what I've got."

Harry glanced though the papers. "Looks like Hart's client in this case got into a DUI accident, put the other driver in a coma. The district attorney..." Harry flipped through the pages and glanced up in surprise. "The district attorney took a plea bargain. Gave Hart's client _probation_? That doesn't sound right."

"If his client had money, Dresden, that's all it takes. In their world, at least. Me, I want the potion."

"Right, right," Harry said. "You did good work, Brian, thanks."

"The potion?" Brian said, impatiently.

"Wait here, I'll be right back."

Harry set the file on his desk and went back to his lab leaving Brian in the front room. He glanced into the bowl where he had left the potion to brew then grabbed a bottle and a funnel and started to slowly pour the potion in. Bob's skull sat on the table where he had left it, but the ghost himself was not to be seen.

As he poured, Harry leaned near the skull and said, "Come on out, Bob, I've got a ghoul I want you to keep an eye on."

"Already taken care of, Harry," Bob's voice said from behind him. Harry started and turned around, spilling some of the potion in the process. Bob passed through the wall and into the lab. "You may be interested to know that your ghoulish friend has pocketed a crystal ball, a wand you left sitting on your desk, and some loose change."

"Dammit, Brian," Harry muttered as he stoppered the bottle.

"Leopards don't change their spots, Harry."

"Not everyone's a lost cause," Harry said.

"Yes, well, at least _some_ people are."

Harry sighed and left the lab to return to the front room.

"Got the potion right here."

"Excellent," Brian said and reached for it, but Harry pulled back.

"Empty your pockets first."

The ghoul froze. "What?"

"Empty them. I know you're stealing from me so just give back what you've taken and you can have the potion."

Brian sighed and reached into his jacket pockets and unloaded the wand, crystal ball, and change onto the desk.

"That's better," Harry said and extended the bottle once more.

Brian reached out again, but his hand hovered over the bottle for a moment and then he reached further, letting his finger's brush Harry's shield bracelet. Harry could see the dark, greedy power he had seen in Brian's eyes the night before.

Harry dropped the bottle, which landed with a dull thud onto the rug and rolled slightly. He jerked his hand away, but then grabbed Brian by his jacket lapels.

The ghoul gave an alarmed cry. "I can't help myself, Dresden!"

"I put my neck out for you! You know that? I did that when I didn't have to."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Brian hissed, and for a moment his visage flickered, his eyes replaced with empty sockets.

A blood red energy started to tingle at the tips of Harry's fingers, and he shoved Brian away, causing the ghoul to stumble and fall to the floor.

"Get out," Harry ordered. "Out of here, out of Chicago. Take the potion and _leave_."

Brian scrambled to his feet, grabbed the potion bottle, and ran out the door. Harry watched out the window as Brian disappeared down the street. He closed his eyes and put one of his hands on the door jamb, and whispered a spell softly. He opened his eyes, the wards around his place glowed faintly for a moment then disappeared.

"Are you all right?"

Harry turned to face Bob, who had entered the room. "Yeah, sometimes I just like to make sure they're still there."

He went over to his desk and picked up the file from the court and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

"Harry, wait."

"For what? Sean's in danger, and I..." Harry threw his hands into the air. "Something's happening to me, Bob. Maybe Sean is on the crazy train and I have a seat reserved right next to him."

"Maybe you should let this one go," Bob said.

"Maybe, but you know I can't do that." Harry shook his head and then said softly, "I went to my uncle's house today."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just... I had to. And being there, it wasn't as bad as I have imagined, it was worse."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. This dream I keep having... it's a real place, in that house, Bob. It's in there, but I don't know why." He shook his head in frustration. "Whatever is happening to Sean Hart, somehow it has something to do with me. I have to know what."

"Drop the case," Bob urged. "Drop the case and maybe it all goes away."

"And what happens to Sean? This thing, whatever it is, gets him?"

"Contact Morgan, or Ancient Mai if you have to. Let someone else handle it."

"Morgan and the Council are up to their eyeballs in some sort of Third Eye thing. Morgan gave me _Brian_ to help me on my case. You really think the Council's going to use its resources on my behalf?"

"I see your point, Harry, but..."

"Bob," Harry interrupted, "Can you tell me what's happening to me?"

Bob was quiet for a moment, but then said firmly, "No."

"Then I have to keep working. For me, for him. This," Harry said waving the file, "is probably nothing. But I have to work the lead, at least rule things out so when my client asks, I have _something_ to say." He took a breath and calmed himself.

"Look, Bob, when I get back, we'll try and reach Morgan. It's probably vampires, right? Maybe he'll help when he hears that."

"All right, Harry, but be careful. Please."

-----

When Harry tried the door the Sarah Marshall's apartment, he found it unlocked. He glanced down the hallway to make sure it was clear of any neighbors and then he slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Chaos disrupted any sense of domestic tranquility in the place. Framed photos hung crooked on the wall, the glass in the frames cracked and broken. The television flickered on and off, snow-like interference the only thing visible on the screen. Torn pages of books littered the floor. Harry pulled a drumstick wand from inside his jacket and silently cursed to himself for not bringing the hockey stick.

"Hello?" Harry called out, but there was no response.

He stepped through the living room and into the kitchen only to find broken dishes and glasses strewn about. A bowl of molded and rotting fruit sat on the counter. He moved into the dining area, where photos and papers were scattered across the table.

Harry set down the file that he had brought with him, but kept his wand in hand. A card embossed with the image of a cake and bells caught his eye and he picked it up. Inside, gold letters script letters cordially invited the recipient to the wedding of Marcus Rutledge and Sarah Marshall.

Harry set the card down and opened up the file. The victim in the DUI: Marcus Rutledge.

He looked over the photos, images of a young man with short brown hair, dark eyes, and a broad smile accompanied by a woman with long pale hair and green eyes. He picked up one of the photos of the two dressed in formal attire. He flipped the photo over and saw "Marcus and Sarah, engagement" handwritten on the back.

He moved to set the photo down, but something carved into the polished wood of the table. The letter "e". Harry moved more of the pictures aside: "...ice". He shoved a swath of the photos, cards, and other papers aside, several fluttering down to the floor. "I want justice" in deep, jagged lettering.

Harry grabbed one of the wedding invitations and a photo and shoved them into his sweater's front pocket. He backed away from the table and then in the periphery of his vision, a shadow fluctuated on the wall . He started and turned his head; nothing was there, but then a door slammed. Harry's heartbeat quickened and he hastened to the front door, which he found shut and locked. He turned the bolt then opened the door. The hall was silent, no one was there, but he caught a faint, lingering scent of a woman's perfume.

-----

_To be continued..._


	6. The Manifestation

----

"It's not a vampire," Harry said as he entered the lab and found Bob pacing inside.

"What?"

Harry tossed down the file. "Sarah Marshall. Her finance was put into a coma by one of Sean's clients, a client who practically got off with no sentence for his crime."

"It's not possible, Harry."

"It is her. The message 'I want justice'," Harry said. "I saw that at her apartment and at Sean's place. It's her. She must be some kind of witch, some kind of sorceress."

"We would have known. Your potion at Hart's house would have indicated."

"She could have overcome a potion like that," Harry said, growing agitated. "She must have--"

The lab fell away, candlelight extinguished and replaced by darkness. Blackness everywhere around him, and a burning grip on his shoulder.

"Bob?" He whispered with a tremble in his voice.

The grip tightened. Slowly, Harry turned around, but where someone should have been, there was only darkness. A dark red glow flowed into the empty space and Harry glanced down at the source: his hands, they were burning. He held them in front of his face, the power dripping from them, coalescing into the darkness.

An ice cold emptiness filled him and he shivered all over. The vision faded, the lab reappearing around him. His blood was freezing in his veins and then the feeling faded as Bob stepped forward, out of him.

The ghost turned around. "Harry, I'm sorry, you were gone... I called your name, but..."

"She's doing something to me. She's cursed me."

Bob's face looked pained and he shook his head.

"What? Do you have a theory to share? Do. You. Know. Something?"

Bob hesitated. "Harry, I..."

"You know what's happening to me," Harry accused. "I asked you before. You lied to me."

"You asked me if I could tell you anything." the ghost said urgently. "I can't tell you anything. I am not ABLE to."

"It's more than a dream, it's more than a memory, isn't it?"

"Don't ask me."

"_Tell_ me."

"It's too dangerous, Harry. Drop the case. That's when this started. Drop it and let it go."

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I command you to tell me what the Hell is going on!"

Bob's eyes widened at Harry's words. Harry often insisted on things, demanded them, even threatened forced compliance, but it was the first time in years he had actually used the formal language required give effect to any force. The look on the ghost's face made Harry almost sorry he had done it. Almost.

"You know I cannot refuse, Dresden," Bob said carefully. "So know this, I am _not_ refusing and have not been refusing. I am bound by an earlier command that you made and that you must undo for me to tell you what you are asking."

"Command that I made? What are you talking about?"

A loud rapping on the glass at the front of the shop interrupted their conversation.

"Harry!?" A voice called from the front. "Harry, it's Sean!"

"We aren't finished," Harry said to Bob before he left the lab.

When he got to the front, Harry opened the door to let a frantic Sean Hart inside.

"I'm being followed, Harry. I was just attacked."

Hart touched his neck, where ugly red marks were rising into welts. Blood trickled down from scratches on his face.

"Did you see the one who did this to you?" Harry asked urgently.

Hart shook his head. "I don't know... I was just down the street and then..."

Harry grabbed the photo and wedding invitation he had shoved in his pocket earlier. "Marcus Rutledge. Do you remember that case? Do you remember a girl?"

His fingers trembling, Hart took the photo and scrutinized it. His face paled. "It's her. I... I didn't see her before, but now that I see this picture, I _know_. It was her. It has been her."

There was a bang and shudder at the front door. They both looked up sharply, but there was nothing and no one there.

"Wait here," Harry said in a hushed sort of panic. He hurried back to the lab to get his hockey stick, his heart beating quickly in his chest. Another bang and shudder.

"Harry," Bob said. "Harry, what's going on out there?"

"I don't know, okay!" Harry snapped and then grabbed for his hockey stick. The handle of this stick glowed red under his hands and crackled with energy. Harry startled and dropped the stick before he was again plunged into darkness.

_"Harry..."_

"Who's there? Sarah? What do you want?"

_"I can help you. I will help you."_

Unbearable heat. His hands surging with an unknown power. A grip on his shoulder.

He turned to find himself staring at... himself, a vaguely translucent version of himself tinted in red. His other self smiled and pointed into the black. He could hear his uncle's voice in the darkness: "You decided to _STEAL_ from _ME_."

A shattering of glass. It crunched under his feet as he turned to flee. His shoulder was grabbed, spinning him around again to he face a version of his uncle similar what he had seen of himself. This Justin's eyes were full of fury, a dark and dangerous rage that sent Harry's heart racing even faster. But then the translucent version of Harry stepped forward and disappeared into a crackling, darkening red ball of energy and invaded Justin. His uncle fell to his knees and gasped for air.

"Harry, stop... stop... get help," the translucent Justin gasped.

And he was backing away again, running. He tripped on the stairs, splinters jamming into his palms.

A shattering of glass...

His veins filled with ice and he was jolted back to reality.

"Harry, wake up! Your windows have been broken and your wards have been breached. _She _is inside."

Harry's breath came in sharp pants, but he collected himself and hastened to the front with Bob following after him. Hart was standing stock still staring at the broken windows.

"I saw her," Sean said faintly. "At the window, but then the glass broke and she was gone."

A shadow stretched across the room toward them and Harry grasped Hart's arm "Come on, it's not safe out here!"

The woman flickered into existence from the shadows, her eyes dark and calculating.

Harry pulled Hart back toward the lab. They backed into the small room and Harry shoved the large door shut. Bob passed through the door to join them inside. Harry pressed his hands on the door to strengthen the wards, and then backed away as the symbols glowed gold and red.

"Harry," Bob said urgently. "I was wrong about her all along. She is a ghost. I am so sorry."

"Who... what the Hell are you?" Hart demanded, his voice tempered with fear.

Bob ignored him and Harry said, "It's all right, Sean. He's a friend." To Bob, he said, "What do you mean she's a ghost?"

A heavy bang at the door made them all jump.

"I don't know ANY ghost that can do that," Harry insisted. "Maybe a powerful poltergeist, but they are tied to specific places, and this chick has been traveling all over."

"She's a shade... a sort of poltergeist that haunts people instead of houses."

"What are you guys talking about?" Hart interjected. "You're telling me this woman, this Sarah Marshall, is not a woman at all, but is a ghost."

"Oh God," Harry said. "I am not prepared to do an exorcism right here. Besides, if she's not bound in a place or in a person, what is there even to exorcise her _from_?"

Another bang at the door.

"Shades are spirits of people who have been forgotten, who fade away and become shadows." Bob said quickly. "They _can _return to be living, physical beings though. I will try to communicate with her."

He stepped to the door, but was unable to pass through.

"The wards," Bob said. "They're keeping her out, but they're also keeping me in."

"Not unlocking them, Bob! How do I stop her?"

"You can't. Harry, she is in limbo. Stuck between shadows and substance, able to become either one."

At the edges of the door, a darkness started seeping in.

"You see that?" Harry asked, his voice a hushed panic.

"I see it," Hart said, matching his tone.

As the blackness spread slowly across the wall, Harry's hands started to crackled and glow. His body shuddered as a feverish wave of power coursed in his veins.

"Harry!" Hart cried, and he touched Harry on the shoulder. The energy gathering around Harry flowed to Hart, and started to darken around him and then went into him. Hart gasped and sank to his knees, and Harry backed away holding his hands in front of himself; a new charge of energy was already gathering.

"Bob!" Harry called. "How do I stop this?"

The dark shadows on the walls poured down to the floor, pooling into a single spot.

"Harry, you must control it," Bob said urgently. "If you don't, Hart is dead, and the shade and I... I don't know what will happen. You must CALM yourself."

Harry started hyperventilating. "I can't. I can't control it." He fell to his knees like Hart, clutching at his chest. Bob crouched down next to him and put his hands into Harry's body, taking a cold, spectral grip on Harry's rapidly beating heart.

"Bob..." Harry said faintly. "Please."

"There is nothing more I can do. Focus now, Harry, slow down your heart."

"I can't. I'm dying."

"Focus!" Bob insisted, but then paused. He pulled his hands out of Harry and stood. The wizard's breaths were coming in sharp pants.

"You're not dying," Bob said, a realization in his voice. "But you think you are. You're running off fear..."

Bob turned and looked to where Hart lay gasping on the floor. "_Your_ fear to be more precise."

Bob knelt down next to Hart. "You're the one who needs to calm yourself. Listen to me, Mr. Hart. You _are_ dying, but you can stop this before it is too late."

"Me?" Hart said weakly. "How? I don't have powers to stop her... or him."

Bob glanced at Harry, the energy in his hands was dripping onto the floor, drifting towards Hart. The place on the floor where the shadows had coalesced started to rise and take the form of a woman.

"You do," Bob said. "You do have the power. You are the reason for all this."

Hart looked up at Bob, but then his eyes darted over to Harry and to the woman.

"Don't look at them, either of them," Bob said firmly. "I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath and do everything in your power to compose yourself. If you want to save yourself, you_ will_do this."

Hart closed his eyes, and took several unsteady, but deep breaths. At the same time, Harry's breathing became easier, and the bleeding power started to recede.

"Good, excellent," Bob said with encouragement.

The shadows finished forming, and the woman stepped forward. Bob straightened up and made eye contact with her.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

The woman extended her arm and pointed at Hart, then pulled her arm back in and ran her finger across her throat.

"Ah, I see," Bob said uncertainly. "Well then, I would appeal to you not to go through with it on moral grounds, if morality even exists for you."

She carved black letters into the air. _I want justice._

"Yes, justice. Harry mentioned something about that."

"She doesn't want justice," Harry said from behind, and Bob turned around to face him. Harry coughed, rubbed his chest, and got to his feet. "She wants revenge."

Harry addressed the woman directly. "Isn't that right, Sarah?"

She shook her head, circled the word _justice_ several times, and then started to walk toward Hart. The man's breath caught in his throat and he scooted in the opposite direction from her.

"Bob," Harry said then glanced down at his hands, which had started to tingle with energy again.

"You," Bob said to Hart, "talk to her. Apologize for what you have done, and mean it if you can."

"Apologize for what?" Hart asked, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two ghosts.

"Sean," Harry said. "She was in love with a man named Marcus Rutledge. _Your_ client put him into a coma and served no time for that."

"My client's crime is not mine to apologize for!"

"No, but you got him off."

The woman reached for Hart, her fingers flexing like claws.

"I didn't mean to hurt you!" Hart exclaimed and she hesitated.

"Sarah, don't do this," Harry implored and she glanced over at him. "Would Marcus want you to do this? Have you disappeared so much into the shadows that he doesn't matter? Only your vengeance matters?"

She shook her head, but wrote in the air. _I must do this or I will fade away forever._

"You poor soul," Bob said gently. "How long has it been?"

_Centuries._

"I know what it is to be nothing," Bob said, "then to be brought back and then lose your life again." He looked at Harry. "But doing this won't bring you back again, and it will leave you feeling even emptier than before."

Harry said, "What if Marcus wakes up?"

_He won't._

"Miracles happen all the time," said Harry. "If he woke up, could you touch him again with blood on your hands?"

A faint, shadowy tear slipped down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Hart said softly and got to his feet.

The woman moved close to Hart, her face only inches from his. She scrutinized him closely.

"I truly am," Hart whispered, "for any suffering that I have caused you."

The woman took a step back, her body fading, losing substance.

_I'm sorry too_, she wrote in the air in faint gray letters.

"Don't give up hope," Bob said to her softly and she turned to face him. She reached out in his direction and he stepped toward her, reaching out a hand. Harry could swear the two ghosts' fingertips touched... not passed through one another, but touched.

"There is always hope," Bob said, and she nodded to him then melted back into shadows.

-----


	7. The Secret

-----

_So a wizard, a ghost, and a lawyer got together late one afternoon... I wish there were a punch line because I could have used a laugh. My client seemed to be having a difficult time with the reality so I let him sit at my desk while I went to the kitchen and busied myself with brewing a couple cups of tea. I needed something to do with my hands, and a warm drink sounded like it was in order._

Hart was staring at Bob. It seemed like the sort of stare that would make someone uncomfortable, but Bob seemed unfazed by the scrutiny.

Harry set down a steaming mug in front of Hart and then sat across the desk from him. It was one of those times when you know it's just best to wait for the other person to speak first. Hart picked up the mug and took a small sip.

"You're a ghost," Hart said finally, not taking his eyes off Bob. He said it as if he had reached a new and important conclusion.

"Yes," Bob said. "And you're a low level psychic."

The mug slipped out of Hart's fingers and though it did not tip over, the hot liquid splashed onto the desk.

"I'm what?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"You are able to sense other's emotional states," Bob said. "But more than that, you are also able to project emotions onto others."

"That doesn't make any sense," Hart said.

"It makes perfect sense," Bob said.

"There's no such thing as psychic powers," Hart insisted half-heartedly, but then conceded, "I guess that is just as true as there is no such thing as ghosts."

"Welcome to my world," Harry said and took a sip from his own mug. "Your world now too."

"But how can I be a psychic and not know it? I would know. I would hear their thoughts or..." Hart shook his head.

"Perhaps empathic is the better term for what you can do. It's more subtle than hearing thoughts, but powerful nonetheless, especially with the ability to project."

"How can I go my whole life and not know this? What does it mean?"

Harry sighed because he knew exactly what it meant. It meant a life altering change for his client. Harry didn't like giving his clients that kind of news, but there were worse things that Hart's ability: vampirism, lycanthropy... but still, Harry didn't like it.

"You have to stop using your powers," Harry said. "At least in the way that you have been using them."

"But how can I stop? I don't even know what I am doing or how I am doing it."

"What you can do, Sean... it's not black magic, but might be considered a very dark shade of gray."

"By who?"

"The High Council," Harry said. "You're not on their radar, but if they find out about your power and how it's been used, they will not be happy. The Council is very powerful group that governs over magic. You don't want to mess with them."

"I don't want..." Hart started, but tapered off like he was looking for the words. "My job, my career... I believe in a fair fight. I knew I was great at the game, but not that I had a significant unfair advantage. I... I make people feel how I feel or want them to feel? It doesn't seem right. It isn't right."

"That woman, the ghost," Hart continued. "Will more of them come for me?"

Bob shook his head. "Not likely. Shades are rare; this was the first one I have met."

"But they're like you?" Hart asked.

"Not precisely, " Bob said. "They _are_ a sort of ghost, but ghosts of people who never really died. They are lonely, forgotten people who just fade away. They can be pulled back into the world and out of the shadows if someone notices them and feels very strongly for them."

"There are stories, legends mostly," Bob continued, "that say love will bring them back. A strong emotion both given and reciprocated. She had that with Marcus Rutledge. She had built a life for herself. No doubt she was nearly all the way back, but when he went into a coma, that emotional connection was broken. She could still feel for him, but in his state, he could not reciprocate."

"But she didn't fade away," Harry said. "She lingered."

Bob nodded. "She latched onto you, Mr. Hart. Her love turned to hate when your DUI client was barely called to answer for his crime. As she faded away, she started following you. As you became increasingly afraid, she became increasingly angry. You knew she was there, could sense her and her anger. You were reciprocating a strong feeling, which made her more and more powerful."

"But what was happening to Harry," Hart asked. "In there." He nodded his head in the direction of the lab.

"Your own fear was also projected onto Harry. To the extent that it crippled you, it crippled him, and fed her anger."

They sat in silence for several minutes, Harry and Hart drinking from their mugs.

"Teaching," Hart said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I've always wanted to go into teaching. Now seems to be the opportune time for a career change."

"Teaching?" Harry said. "Yeah, I could see that."

"Professor Hart has a nice ring to it," Hart said.

"It does," Harry affirmed and smiled.

Hart downed the rest of his tea and reached into his pocket to pull out his checkbook.

"Sean," Harry said "Your check before more than covered my rate."

"Well," Hart said as he wrote. "Then let this cover for those times where someone can't pay you a fee."

"I... Thanks," Harry said and took the check Hart offered him. The amount matched that of the first check.

"I know people that have similar powers to yours," Harry said. "I could ask them to get in touch with you if you wanted. They could help you learn to channel and control your ability."

"I'd appreciate that," Hart said and stood up. Hart extended a hand to Harry, which Harry took. Shaking his hand, Hart said, "Thank you for your help Harry, and for believing me."

Harry shrugged and gave a lopsided smile. "It's what I do."

Hart turned to Bob and said, "Thank you as well."

Bob nodded to Hart, a small smile on his lips. "You are welcome."

Harry saw Hart to the door, bade him good evening, and then locked the door behind him, not that the lock particularly mattered with the broken window.

"Guess I'll need to fix that," Harry said and then turned to face Bob.

"You going to tell me what's been going on?" Harry asked.

"Sit down, first."

"I'm fine with standing."

"Sit, Harry, please. I am asking you, not telling you."

Harry sat at the desk and watched as Bob paced, appearing lost in thought.

"You have a secret, Harry. Entrusted to me, but kept from yourself. You wanted it that way."

"What does that mean?"

Bob shook his head. "I cannot explain it to you. You must undo a command you gave me five years ago."

"What command? Bob, could you stop being so vague."

"I am forced," Bob snapped.

They were quiet for a moment then Harry said softly, "I'm sorry. You know, for in the lab when I..."

"It doesn't matter."

"No, it does, and I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Bob said. "Now, to tell you what you need to know, you must undo the command or talk around it. I cannot tell you how. I want to, but it is not possible."

Harry picked up his mug and drank the rest of his tea down though it had grown cold as he contemplated how he could undo a command he knew nothing about.

"Tell me what the command was," Harry said.

Bob shook his head. "The words, Harry. You have to use them."

"But..."

"Harry, I accept any further apologies in advance," Bob insisted. "You must be precise; you must use the words."

"Precision is not really my thing."

"Yes, I know, but nevertheless."

Harry took a deep breath and spoke, trying not to make his voice sound doubtful or guilty about making the formal command. "Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I command you to tell me what I ordered of you those years ago."

Bob gave Harry a reassuring smile and then said, "You commanded me to keep secret the secret I revealed to you. To never speak of it. Not even to you. You commanded me to make you forget again what you had forgotten before."

Harry tapped the table in irritation. "God, I was cryptic."

Bob nodded. "You were thorough, yes."

"But what did I forget before?"

Bob shook his head.

"That room at my family's house. That room is important?"

"It is essential."

"Do you know what happened in there?"

"Some of it, not all of it," Bob said.

"Why not all of it?"

"After what happened, you became quite ill and would not speak of it. Justin likewise and after he recovered, he tampered with your memory."

"What did he do?"

"He locked the secret in that place, locked it in a memory you can only half recall."

"What do you know that happened in there?"

"Words, Harry."

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I command you to tell me what happened in there."

"Justin almost died. You were sixteen years old. You had some sort of argument with him, but I do not know the specifics. Do you remember, in general, what happened when you were a teenager?"

Harry shrugged. "I was gangly, my voice went funny."

Bob smiled. "But aside from being gangly, awkward, sullen in only the way teenagers can be, and obsessed with girls. Perhaps something more related to our world."

"My powers spiked. I had a hard time controlling them," Harry said.

"Yes, exactly. You are a wizard of immense power."

Harry snorted.

"It is true," Bob said sincerely. "Perhaps inelegant, perhaps imprecise, but powerful. You have latent power that not even the High Council has divined."

"Latent power?" Harry looked at Bob skeptically.

"If they knew, Harry... they might not kill you, but they could also not let you free."

"I don't understand. Are you saying this power is the secret? That I have some sort of power I don't know about, but knew about at one time. That you and my uncle knew about?"

Bob nodded.

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I command you to tell me the nature of this power."

"The extent of it, I do not know. It is dangerous, profoundly destructive. Any time we make contact, I can sense that it is still there, waiting."

"Waiting for what? Why was it kept secret?"

"I don't know, but I believe you were never meant to control it, only access it at the critical moment. Fear seems to trigger it. I suspect Justin wanted you to tap into it that night you were to meet the Council."

"But if he made me forget it, why did you later tell me about it?"

"While I was under his control, I could not tell you about it. After he died, you were alone, you were scared, you needed to know about it in case... in case it started to emerge."

"But I had you make me forget again? Hypnosis? Why?"

"Bad timing on my part, perhaps. It was too much for you. Or perhaps you thought it could go away. Harry, I can't speak to your state of mind."

Harry was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Quietly, he asked, "Could you make me forget it again?"

"I could," Bob acknowledged. "I could bury it back in that room, but it is a part of you. That will not change."

"It could emerge again, just like this time."

"Yes, the thought crossed my mind."

"Then I have to control it," Harry said with finality. "I need you to teach me how. Can you? Would you?"

"Of course," Bob answered. "I don't know the exact nature of it, but I believe I could help you to control it."

Relief washed over Harry at this. "Thanks, Bob. I'll owe you one."

"I will need you to procure a chalk board."

"What?"

"You did say you wanted me to teach you."

"Yeah, but... you can't be serious."

"Oh, I am quite serious."

"A chalk board," Harry said doubtfully.

"Lessons start at eight in the morning _sharp_," Bob added.

"Too early," Harry only half protested.

"I'm the teacher, you're the pupil. I get to set the parameters."

Harry eyed Bob. "You're enjoying this."

Bob just started at him impassively.

"Fine," Harry said and stood up. "I guess I have to go buy a chalk board... and some chalk."

He grabbed his keys from on top of the desk and shoved them in his sweater pocket. "And an alarm clock," he muttered as he left the shop, leaving Bob smiling in his wake.

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END


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